


Wedding Portraits

by KendylGirl



Series: The Alchemy of Butterflies [14]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Did I mention fluff?, Even More Fluff, Fluff, M/M, More Fluff, POV Alternating, True Love, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 12:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: Glimpses before, during, and after The Big Day.





	Wedding Portraits

**Author's Note:**

> I've been off the grid for about ten days, and apparently there was some sort of Wikipedia war afoot. Let's just have this as our conclusion to it, shall we? :)
> 
> A huge thanks to the sharp eye of Willowbrooke for once again taking on my tangle of sentences and keeping them on course!

I’m going to die.

That’s it.There’s no way out of it.

The throbbing in my temples has to be a precursor to the inevitable:

_Found dead this morning is one Timothée Chalamet, the latest victim in The Great Tequila Massacre of 2019_ …

“Tiiiimmmmyyy…you awake yet?”

I can only grunt in reply, and even that makes my stomach flop dangerously.

Somewhere above me floats a throaty chuckle.

I know from the comforting scent that I’m in my own bed, so I rub my forehead across the cool surface, press harder to try to stem the flow of blood.I sink deeper into the quilted mattress, my naked limbs worthless as warm Jello.

“Can’t…move.”I can feel the heat of his body next to me as his legs shift, ankles crossing.“Just gonna stay here,” I mumble into the sheet.

“Oooohhhh, no you don’t,” the soft voice purrs.“You’re not ditching me, Chalamet.I’ll drag you down the aisle if I have to.”

“You gonna carry me across the threshold?”I grin down into the pillow and let my fingers slide blind across his stomach.I lift my face and shove down the puff of fabric so I can see his red lips, pulled apart at the middle.

His smile flicks wider before he bites his bottom lip.“You being serious?”

I scooch over, loll my thigh across his knees.It’s still early, and I can barely see since I’ve been sleeping face down for six hours straight.Turns out that bachelor parties really are more heinous when there are two grooms to deal with, more like a frat night during _The Purge_.My tongue feels like a strip of shag carpet and my temples throb.But then I guess it was my stupidity for taking up one of Armie’s friends on his drinking game challenge.How was I to know that there are _that_ many dudes named Chad in the world?

My eyebrows dip.“Holy shit.Why do you look like this right now?”

“Whhaaattt?” he whines softly, coyly, as if I’m teasing him.He flops his foot over and brushes my shin with his toes.

He is propped against the headboard with a pillow in his lap, a folded newspaper in one hand, a pen in the other.Yes, a pen.He’s doing the crossword. _In pen_.His tan skin glows against the white sheets, and his neck trades out its golden hue for red as he blushes and adjusts his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose.

He’s gorgeous.That’s all there is to it.He is fucking _stunning_ , and I suddenly realize how little I allow myself to recognize that about him.It’s probably because there are too many other things about him that make me thirsty and weak for him, or maybe it’s because it is way too intimidating for me to think about, the fact that this man—the one who has an ass people would pay to eat off of, a jawline that could stop a train, and a muscular frame that is the very reason suits were even invented— _this_ man is the one that I expect to find _me_ appealing for the remainder of his life, to choose me when the rest of our species would sell its collective soul to have him, even for just a night. _I’m totally fucked, aren’t I?_ I just roll my eyes and flop back down, snugging my arm around his legs and fitting my face between the back of his thigh and the mattress.“I can’t deal with you being perfect right now.It’s pissing me off.”

A huff.“Oh, shut up and help me think of a seven-letter word for ‘Moira’s lot.’”

I lick my lips and nip at his leg.“Vampire.”

“That’s _Salem’s_ Lot, which scared the hell out of me, by the way.”He buzzes a hand through my hair.“Why don’t you go shower?You’ll feel better.”

“Nooooooo,” I groan dramatically and roll onto my back, throw my arm over my eyes.“I’m just going to die here.Tell my parents I loved them.”I sniff loudly.

He jabs at my arm with the end of his pen.“Come on, you have to be ready to get on a plane in…seven hours and twenty-eight minutes, and I don’t think you’ve packed a single thing yet.”

There was no way we were going to share our day with the world press.But really, there is only one place we wanted to go.We are escaping to our Eden, the corner of the world where it all began for us, for a quiet ceremony in the small chapel of Madonna Dei Prati amid the endless fields near Moscazzano.It’s where my dreams go on nights when my mind needs to float on a convection of summer heat, when a winding strip of asphalt roping through a tunnel of lush green rushes me toward a lean figure ahead, the soft flips of blonde when he turns his head to grin at me, panting in the sun that makes the sweat on his face shine, the light I’ll move toward into infinity.

“I don’t need any clothes,” I murmur, clunking my elbow into him.“You don’t either.”

I hear a breathless chuckle and a rustle as he twists to put his paper and pen on the side table.Then, a strong arm dives under me and scoops me up.I let him roll me on top of him, massage my shoulders with warm fingers.He is still wearing the glasses, and they make his crystalline eyes even more mesmerizing.He smiles fondly at me.“Why’re you so grumpy today?You having second thoughts?”

I trail a finger along his breast bone.“Ha ha, that’s hilarious,” I scoff.

He captures my hand, raises it to his lips.“You know, you never told me…when did you know?”

I gaze at him for a minute, and his eyes seem to glow a deeper shade of indigo, magnified by the lenses so that I feel like they’re pulling me forward into their sea.“I’m not exactly sure, only becauseI think a small part of me thought about it from the start, long before you were ever mine.”

The corner of his mouth lifts.“When was that?I’m pretty sure I was yours before I was born.”

_God, he kills me_.I drop forward and follow with my mouth the path my finger has taken.“Ok, but I…I never let myself really consider it back then because…well, you know.”He kisses my palm.“But then, at that radio interview, when they used our clip…you remember?”His eyes abstract as he thinks back, and he gives a small nod.“He said ‘Armie and Timothée Chalamet.’I…I’d never really…”I shrug.“I liked it.A lot.”

An eyebrow raises.“Does that mean you want me to be a Chalamet?”

My jaw loosens.“What’s wrong with that?”

He squeezes my wrist, runs his hand down and up my forearm.“Well, with a name like Chalamet, I’d have to go by my full name.”

“Why?I don’t.”I poke his stomach.

“Oh, come on. _Armie_ Chalamet?That’s just so…”He shudders.

I lean forward and grin at him.“Does that mean I can call you Armand now?Huh?Does it? _Does it?_ ”I lick my lips.

“Not if you expect me to answer.”He darts forward and kisses my nose.

“Oh, so you want me to take _your_ name?”

“Tim Hammer?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He smirks.“I don’t know…it kind of makes you sound like you’re a police officer in a 1980’s TV show.”

My eyes bug.“Really?Yes!I’ve always wanted a mullet!”When his face blanches, I collapse against his chest in a fit of giggles.

His eyes narrow, and he thunks on my shoulder with an index finger.“Yo, Sarge, I hate to burst your bubble, but isn’t there already an actor named Tim Hammer?”

“Is there?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

I crane my body forward and grab my phone from the nightstand.A few clicks later, I shriek, “Holy shit!”I turn the screen so he can see it.“Check it out:dark hair, blue eyes—he could be our love child!”I flick my finger through his IMDb page.“And he even had a role called ‘Hot Gay Man’!Damn, I have to meet this guy…”

He gasps, then grabs the phone and throws it to the foot of the bed.“Behave yourself.”His arms come around my shoulders, pulling long strokes up my back, and he snugs me closer.“You’re already occupied.”

I smile and nip at his neck, then sit back to study his face again.He’s smiling, too, but only with his eyes, and I think this is my favorite expression of his.It’s like the happiness is so deep down, it can only show its peak at the surface because it is coating everything inside of him.“And you’re sure you want to do this?You _sure_ you’re going to still love me when I’m old and shriveled and scarred up by life?”

He looks at me so long that I think he’s waiting for me to say more.Then, he threads the fingers of my left hand into his right and sits up higher against his pillows, pulling me with him.“I have not even a single doubt.”His voice has dipped to a sultry level that automatically makes the hair on my arms stand up.“You see, Tim, virgin flesh is nice to look at,” and he kisses the inside of my wrist, “very nice, in fact.”He places a few more kisses to the underside of my forearm, the inner cup of my elbow.“But it doesn’t have a story.It doesn’t have anything interesting to say.”He turns my hand and lays it carefully on his stomach, palm down, running his thumb and index finger down each digit, one by one, separating them out like he’s detangling long strands of hair.“But this…”The pad of his middle finger digs under and lifts my ring finger.“This one has suffered.This one has bled.This one knows what it is to survive.”

I don’t even know why my throat is tight, why my legs clench tighter around his knees in an effort to keep me upright.

He raises my hand up in both of his, turns it around like it’s a jewel he’s admiring under a light from above.His voice is quiet, contemplative.“And I don’t know its story, I don’t know its pain, but what I _do_ know is that in about three days, I’m going to decorate _this_ finger with a ring of platinum.I’m going to honor it first, and then…then, I will honor the body that carries it, and I’ll do so gladly for the rest of my life to make absolutely certain that this finger never has to bleed again.”

And he kisses the scar across my knuckle, kisses it with lips so soft, I am not sure I’d even know they were touching me if I hadn’t been watching it with my eyes, if my heart hadn’t felt the impact of his own moving closer to it, swamping it in light, draping it in a blanket of tenderness I’d never known existed, my shelter and my utter freedom, all in one.

* * *

We agree to enter from opposite sides.There’s no bridal train to deal with; no one’s giving either of us away (which, by the way, is a totally barbaric concept that I cannot imagine adhering to with my own daughter as if she were a football I’m handing off to someone else).Overrunning baskets of white flowers frame the dais, simple yet elegant.The small sanctuary is lit solely with candles, and the faces of our loved ones who populate the pews are fuzzy and dim. 

The only face I see clearly is his.

His dark hair is pushed away from his cheeks, his regal emerald green suit complementing the lines of his body perfectly.He’s biting at his bottom lip, as if that’s the only way to keep himself from grinning like a fool.

I have no such defense.I’m smiling so hard my teeth have dried and my lip is stuck in place.

And when he sees me, he gives up the fight, rushing forward to meet me halfway, right before the altar, and grabbing my hands with a toothy smile that shoots a beam straight through me.

It wasn’t like this before.I mean, I was scared shitless at my first wedding, sweating and pacing and on the verge of vomiting every time I opened my mouth.I had no idea what the fuck I thought I was doing then, and it took every ounce of my strength not to sprint out the door and never look back.

Today, I’m buzzing.It’s like I’ve spent the morning guzzling Red Bull and Pixy Stix.I grip his hands tight so that I don’t give in to the impulse to grab him by the waist and throw him in the air just so I can catch him and carry him around all day with his chest plastered to mine and his legs snaked over my hip bones, taking my every breath through the blessed filter of his hair.

I feel like laughing, and it’s so hard to keep it in.My chest swells with the bubbles of it.What would everyone do if I leapt onto the stone partition and belted out “Singing in the Rain”? _Calm down, you lunatic_.I pull slightly at Timmy’s hands, swaying a bit, one direction and the other.His eyebrows flick together a moment before his smile grows two clicks wider in an off-center underbite, and with a deft move, he drops one of my hands and wrenches in a massive arc the arm still holding my other to twirl me around on the spot. 

I can’t help but giggle as I whirl around, though I’m pretty sure I sound like a drunken teenaged girl.Should I care?I don’t, not even a little.The room erupts in laughter, so we glance at each other before taking a jaunty, exaggerated bow like we’re center stage at the Majestic, and reaching for each other once again.

The clergyman gives us a patient smile, waiting for the room to silence before he begins.His name’s Bruno.He’s Luca’s neighbor, a great guy who once made trays of his mother’s babà for the entire cast while we were filming here.He has a pet Guinea pig he calls Sal that is the most obese rodent I’ve ever seen in my life.

Timmy’s hand is warm in mine.I wonder what it would feel like against my cheek.

“Armie?”Tim’s leaning toward me, hissing in my ear.

“Hi, Timmy!”I whisper back.“Have I told you how good you look today?‘Cause you do, just so fucking handsome!”

Bruno’s looking between us like we just announced we’re going to go shirtless for the rest of the ceremony. _Hey, that’s not a bad idea!_ The thought makes my cheeks puff, and I can’t help but giggle again.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes!God, I’m _hungry_ though.Are you hungry yet?”I may or may not have spit on his cheek as the words spray out of my mouth like my tongue’s a firehose.“I’m glad you wore that suit.Is it weird that I actually want to dance tonight?I’m just so…”What _am_ I?What’s the word I’m looking for?

Tim’s lips press together and pull to the side.He stares at me for a few moments, eyes filling as they roam all over my face.Then, he squeezes my hands and nods, turns quietly back toward Bruno.

I blush and shuffle closer to him until the tips of our shoes touch.

_My angel_.That’s him.That’s what he is.He just _knows_.

* * *

Bruno’s talking but my ears are ringing too loud to hear him.

When I was eight years old, I wanted to be a soccer star.Every kid I knew played on a summer league.I would watch the other guys sprint down the field, zigzag around defenders with ease, pirouette and score like the ball was a part of their bodies, so it would obey their every command. I, however, remained a cluttered mass of elbows and knees, and I spent more time getting knocked in the mud by kids twice my weight than I did dribbling a ball.The scar on my ring finger?That happened when I fell during a game and some dick from my own team ground my hand into the turf with his cleats.

But I envied all those guys.

They were strong and gutsy, and everyone cheered for them.But no one was going to hoist me on their shoulders or dump Gatorade on my head in celebration.When a kid is gifted a deplorable lack of athletic ability, he becomes little more than a jersey-wearing spectator who gets a really great seat right at the end of the bench.

Acting is the only thing I have ever been good at.Honing this skill became my only goal.It’s the sole reason anyone has ever paid attention to me.It’s the only thing that’s ever made me special.

I steal a glance at Armie’s profile.

_But he loves me._

Me.Just _me_.

Even when I have a cold and my nose is red and globbed in snot, when I leave empty chip bags and pistachio shells scattered around the living room, when I’m pissy and wear sunglasses inside all day, when I forget the laundry in the washer for an entire week and it molds, when I call him at 3:00 a.m. from across the globe and make him tell me a story so I can sleep.

Hold up.

Nobody would put up with that shit.

Have I just imagined his smell and his smile and his tremendous bear hug?His tender fingers on my face when I’m scared and his endless corny jokes when I’m sad?How he kisses me when we’ve had to be apart and how he fucks me slowly, generously, until my heart beats strong again and I forget that the distance had existed at all?

God, what if—

His thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist, and I startle, finally sucking in a noisy breath.It brings the room back into focus, and I feel my eyes fly open to his careful gaze.I force myself to inhale and exhale deeply, over and over, so I won’t forget again.

_Yes.Breathe._

His shoulders relax, and he winks at me.

* * *

His closed mouth moves as he swallows like it’s full of Saltine crackers.His eyes hold mine, almost pleadingly, his eyebrows like thick accent lines hovering above them.

“Armie, you make me brave.Usually I don’t…I have basically no confidence.I… _hesitate_.”A flick of a smile.“But you…you have a way of making everything seem possible, and…you never even have to _do_ anything.”There’s genuine wonder in his voice, and it makes my throat tight.“Like, you remember the time you wanted to go bungee jumping off of that bridge in Switzerland?God, I had never done something so crazy, and I wanted to just drop to the ground and grab handfuls of grass and cry…but you just kind of _sprinted_ to the edge of the platform and leapt off like some kind of flying squirrel.And I swore I’d never be able to do it, but you were just so…” He bites the corner of his lip.“And afterwards we stopped at that little place off the main road and got those giant turnovers, or whatever the hell they were, and you dared me to sing that goat herder song from _The Sound of Music_ , and…”He glances out at the pews and back to me.“Oh…ah, well, that’s not really the direction I mean to go, but…”He chuckles self-consciously, face reddening.“You’re just…you’re just that _amazing_ , and I hope this doesn’t sound cheesy, but you make every minute of my life amazing, too, and I…I really love you.”

The ring he slides on my finger is smooth and cool.He twists it a few times before he lets go, like he’s screwing it in place. _Can I kiss him now?_

I massage his fingers meditatively for a moment while Bruno says a few words that I don’t even try to absorb.“Tim, the entire focus of my life used to be resignation.I didn’t think that joy was a real thing, that _real_ _people_ actually felt that emotion.I thought that being an adult meant forcing yourself to do what was expected of you, no matter how bad it hurt on the inside.I thought it _had_ to burn because as long as everyone _around_ me was happy, then I’d gotten as close to the concept of joy as I ever would.”I flinch.“But you…you saved me from that.You saved me from _pretending_ my way through my own life as if that actually were any kind of a life at all.You just…you’re inside me.You’re in my _bones_.”

I move the ring down his waiting finger, run my thumb over the scar that gleams white on his knuckle, even in shadow.He grins, a fat tear pushing out of the corner of his eye.But before I can collect it, he raises his hand to my face, brushes my cheekbone up to my temple, and when his thumb comes back wet, I have the insane thought rush through me that whenever he cries, his tears somehow will emerge from my own eyes…if he falls, I will bruise…if someone cuts him, I will bleed.

But as I stare hard at our hands, slotted together, rings glinting in the soft light, it somehow makes perfect sense.

* * *

“So, in case any of you are wondering, we are here right now _all_ thanks to me.”There’s laughter and a smattering of applause, so Paulie smirks and motions with her hands.“Oh, yeah, that’s right, bring it on.”She grins, waving the praise across herself like waves of an ocean breeze.“Yes, it _was_ me who suggested a reception here at Villa Toscanini because it is fabulous…and, you know, right down the street from the chapel, so…”She hooks her thumb at us.“Oh, wait, you thought I meant _these_ guys?Well, that too, of _course_ …” and laughs along with the group before she snatches up her glass of champagne and cradles it to her chest with both hands.

Then, I see her eyes change, harden slightly like they do when she gets serious, when she retreats alone to a space in her mind that years of hard-won experience have taught me the rest of us were not invited to follow.“I have to tell you something about my brother.You may or may not have seen him stuff his pant legs into his socks.Have you?Yeah?It’s so counterintuitive, isn’t it?I mean, it looks itchy, and it _has_ to wrinkle up the fabric, and fashion statements aside, it used to drive me _nuts._ Until I figured out that most of who he is, is exactly that way.He’s a shy guy who lives in his head, but he chose a profession that puts him in front of cameras and garners him attention wherever he goes.He is sensitive and easily hurt, but he wears that softness unprotected on the surface of his skin…”She trails off, sniffs quietly, and I just stare at the table because if I look at her right now, I will lose it.“And I always knew that it would take a special kind of person to love Timmy properly, a person who would nurture every one of his contradictions, all of the ill-fitting parts that make up his pure heart.”She turns toward Armie, whose expression is stripped and raw.“I am certain that Armie _is_ the perfect person for Tim because he _gets_ it.They’re so alike, and I’m not sure they even realize it.Their first steps are always left when they know they want to go right; they both have the most swagger when they’re actually terrified, and they both have absolutely no clue why the other loves him.”Her smile makes a brief pass from wistful to wicked.“But then again, they’re both men, so they _rarely_ have a clue.”She raises her glass.“Here’s to you, my brothers, and the future you have chosen.I’ve no doubt it will bring you all of the happiness you truly deserve.”

* * *

“Timmy looks so handsome, doesn’t he?” Pauline gushes to me. Her cheeks are reddened, and the additional gleam in her eye shows that she has possibly retrieved a bottle of champagne and has been smoothly topping off her flute for most of the evening.

We sway in a circle, and I smile serenely at her.“Yes.Yes, he does.”

She pokes my chest.“You…you look _all right_.”

I smirk.“Gee, thanks.”

She sticks her tongue out at me, and I chuckle.Only Pauline could make that an apology and get away with it.

The Chalamets sweep by, and Marc gives me a nod and a polite smile in passing.Nicole is giggling too much to speak.

I motion after them.“So, you gonna give me the in with your dad?”

“Whaddaya mean?” she hiccups.

“I _mean_ he never says more than a few words to me…and he petrifies me.”

She giggles.“Oh, please.He’s a pussycat.”

“Yeah, right.”

She swats my shoulder.“Stop.He’s just the quiet type.It’s..it’s his _way_.It has to be.”

I lower my eyebrows.

A snort.“Seriously, have you met our mother?She could talk the spots off a leopard.”

“Come on, Captain,” I huff, “throw me a bone here!”

She sighs.“You still don’t get it, do you?You’d have had to elope and live in hiding in Outer Mongolia if my dad wasn’t on board with you.And even then, my mom would find you and kill you.Trust me.We look after our own.”She pats my arm.“But here’s the part you’re clearly missing: you’re one of us.You think any reporter’s gonna give you sass again without Mama Bear pulling out her claws for you?You think your _kids_ aren’t going to be spoiled rotten whenever they’re over?”She leans up on her toes.“And do you really think _I’m_ not going to give you as much shit as I do Tim _on every possible occasion_?”

I roll my eyes.“That’s how it is now, though.”

She shakes her head, and I see her face soften slightly.“See what I mean?”I feel my throat pinch, and I bite my lip hard before she sees I’m so close to tears.“Look, just be a good boy, Armistice, and invite them to your place next month, grill them your best steaks, and serve them a killer Cabernet.That’s all you’ll ever have to do to make them putty in your hands.”

My head wobbles around.“Okay, okay, I can do that.”I smile hesitantly.“Yeah, I’m good with meat…I’m famous for my beef!”

She smirks, leering at me.“Yep, that’s your reputation, so quit bragging, stud.”

Before I’m able to blush clear through to the soles of my feet, she’s already cackling and dragging me toward the bar. 

* * *

The door to our suite closes with a quiet snick, and he sags against it.His head angles down, and we just stare at each other, suspended between amazement and disbelief that this day has actually happened.

For a moment, it feels like we’re against a stone wall in Crema.Only that night had been the end, and this one is just a beginning.

He tugs on my hand, leads me over to a large leather sofa and sinks his body into it, pulls me into his lap.I slide naturally into my place there, run my hands over his head and around his neck.The top two buttons of his shirt are open, so I massage the bare skin there.

He’s watching me, eyes so intense on mine it feels like he’s copying my movements, though his arms rest loose at his sides.

“What?”My hands slide to his chest.“What are you thinking?”

“Tim, I…I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”And his eyes are so blue, and his hands are on my arms, warm and soft.“I can’t really…it’s like, at first, you’re what makes it possible for me to breathe, but then…then you just take my breath away…”

I hear a noise from my own throat, a gurgle or a whimper or a moan, I don’t even know what.But I push past it, push open his arms and smash into him hard, hugging him to me with such ferocity that my face curls around until my nose touches the upper knobs of his spine, my life raft in a lurid sea of humanity.I feel out of breath, and I pant until I’m close to hyperventilating, his solid arms secure around my waist the only thing keeping my body from folding in on itself or dissipating into the air.

“Armie.”I whisper right into his ear. _Can he hear me?_ He has to.My words, every syllable that crosses my tongue, are only for him.

“Yeah?”

“You remember the night during filming when we watched _To Kill a Mockingbird_ because Gregory Peck’s reserve is how you saw Oliver's, and because Atticus Finch is the kind of parent that every kid should have and you hoped that you’d be as wise with your own kids?”

He hums in my ear, rubs up and down my back, cups my ass with huge, warm hands.

“We fell asleep on the couch halfway through and…you were all worried that you’d crush me… and just before I drifted off, I realized that the angle of my nose and face is exactly the same as the back of your head.I mean, it was a _perfect fit_.”I feel his cheek move against my neck as he smiles.“And I thought that…I thought it must be because at one time, in some way, in some other life, we were joined together.We just had to find our way back to one another.”

He turns his head and angles up into me, kisses me with an openness that feels new, a braid of desire and contentment that I can’t get enough of.I grab onto his face, move his head around, stroking his tongue from all sides, tasting this new flavor of him, addicted to it from the moment he opens his mouth.

I pull back, lean my cheek against his to catch my breath, and lap at his ear.“So, I know the answer.”

“The answer to what, my angel?” he murmurs into my hair. 

It is a simple endearment, but it makes me dizzy.He’s never called me that before.In fact, he never has called me any sort of pet name in our entire relationship, so I assumed he hated them.Part of me had never wanted to ask about it and risk dredging up any bad memories that would have made the practice detestable to him, and the other part was too embarrassed to reveal how much I craved that kind of cotton fluff, the desire to stretch the cocoon he provides me so that it can encompass my name, too, my whole identity.

_Oh, fuck.Now I get it_.

Three years and thousands of miles later, I am hit full force by the power of it, the idea of the person you love calling you by another name.And it doesn’t have to be a choice between _his_ name or _my_ name, not really.It almost feels more intimate for it to be one he’s selected for me because he is the only one in the world who will use it.It is an identity that he’s bestowed upon me, one that’s for him alone.Our film, its book—both made the concept intellectually comprehensible to me, but I’d never truly _felt_ it until this very moment.

“The crossword.Remember? 'Moira’s lot’?”

“Oh, yeah…so what’s the answer?”

My lips start a slow track across his skin until they find his, waiting.“Destiny.”

**Author's Note:**

> I remember when I noticed a scar on Mr. Chalamet's finger, and it took a lot of mental mirroring in my slow mind to realize it was his ring finger, the metaphorical possibilities of which sent my brain into a frenzy.
> 
> By the way, I didn't make up the part about the angle of Tim's face fitting the angle of the back of Armie's head. A picture I saw many moons ago (maybe from that blissful NYFF shoot??) had them standing in profile and I saw it, like the most handsome Pangea in creation...
> 
> It was Mr. Hammer himself who gave me the location idea in a photo he apparently took of this church in May 2016, complete with Oliver bike on the stone walk outside!
> 
> "Moira's Lot" is meant to refer to the Fates in Ancient Greek mythology.
> 
> There really is a Tim Hammer out there, though he's basically old enough to be Timmy's dad: https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0358508/
> 
> If you were confused about Pauline's speech, I'll implore you to read "The Doctor is In" and "Something Happened on the Way to Heaven," two earlier installments in this series. [Who am I kidding? I implore you to read _anything_ I've written! :) ]


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